


Coming Home For Christmas

by CreamcheeseBagel



Series: We're Blue Birds [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne Has a Heart, Bruce Wayne Tries, Christmas Eve, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jason Todd is a good brother, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21847255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreamcheeseBagel/pseuds/CreamcheeseBagel
Summary: Dick didn’t know what hurt worse; that Bruce still didn’t know how far his son had fallen, or that he did - and couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge Dicks instability.Dick leaves the trappings of Blüdhaven to visit his family for Christmas. Afraid of Bruce's reaction to his suicide attempt, Jason is dragged along.(Batfamily)
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Series: We're Blue Birds [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1436329
Comments: 2
Kudos: 199





	Coming Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read alone, but would make more sense if you've read the first part.
> 
> This will include references to poor mental health, a suicide attempt and active self harming. If you are easily triggered, or uncomfortable, please do not read. The ending is light however.

Blüdhaven groaned beneath the onslaught of rain, grime covered walls curling inwards to hide. Civilians dashed around miserably, grumbling and ducking into darkened doorways and barely there shops. Nothing united the masses like a bitter shower.

The city felt a million miles away from Christmas Eve.

Dick Grayson, for all his outward charm, lounged against a fire-escape, sodden from head to toe. If anyone dare look upwards towards the billowing smog, they would simply see another drowned rat, too tired for shelter, and scurry on towards their own hole in the wall.

Dick brushed his fingers along the rusting metal, pushing raindrops over the edge.

Blüdhaven was far from beautiful. More the ugly step-sister. Sometimes if Dick looked hard enough, he could slow down and breathe, appreciate the hard fought life that swelled around him. So many cut their hands on climbing for greatness, and fell hard, but even in defeat they continued to grow, mutate, thrive in the underbelly.

Dick had assimilated quickly, falling into their ranks. He wondered briefly if anyone else was watching the rain, unsurprised that the polluted air wouldn’t break for snow.

‘You’ll catch a cold, _Dick_ ,’ Jason hissed, tugging the hood of his jumper over his brow. He ducked out of the open window with ease, looming behind his brother. ‘I’m not going if you get ill’.

‘That’s a loaded statement,’ Dick said, his nose crinkling at the repeated click of a lighter.

‘You know what I mean. Idiot'. Jason inhaled sharply, blowing the smoke over Dicks huddled form. ‘If you really wanted to be dramatic, you could have a cig...?'

Dick swiped his forehead clear of stuck hair and stood. He rolled his shoulders and smiled thinly at his brother. Jason smiled easily, exhaling a plume.

If Dick squinted hard enough he could make out the raised scar marring Jason’s cheek. A thick mass of scar tissue in that mockingly familiar initial. Jason scratched his cheek absentmindedly and Dick looked elsewhere. 

Jason flicked the spent cigarette, hardly smoked. Dick watched the white tumble through the grates and vanish.

‘Replacement is very excited to see you,’ Jason sniffed, the epithet a well worn endearment after all these years. ‘Reckon he's gonna piss himself as soon as you’re through the door’.

‘You’ll always be his favourite,’ Dick smiled at Jason’s outraged expression, the feeble attempt to snare a smirk. ‘And also the most annoying,’ he said with a wink, climbing through the window and into the safe house.

The safe house was one of many, unoccupied for the most part. Occasionally Dick would swing by after a tough night on patrol, knowing Jason would be haunting the building.

The window slammed shut, Jason sauntered through the lifeless lounge.

‘I’m definitely the most handsome!’

‘Latest poll still put me ahead. It’s my dashingly delightful arse,’ Dick quoted with a wry smile. He’d never been vapid enough to entertain the weekly gossip magazines. He knew in all honesty he could have any woman, or man, if he really wanted. But as of late, he had grown to enjoy being single, the freedom in being a wreck without anchoring anyone to the sinking ship.

Jason threw himself onto the sofa with an amused huff, gloved hands already cracking open a beer. He kicked his combat boots onto the glass coffee table.

‘Women would die for a slice of that,’ Jason raised a brow as Dicks face grew red, he had finally won. ‘Me? I’m more a boobs man. Actually scratch that. I’ll take whatever they’ll give me. I’m nice like that’.

Dick hummed nonchantly, vaguely listening as Jason continued to babble endlessly. He figured quickly enough that it was less about the sound of his own voice, and more about keeping Dick in the room.

‘-I told the brat he looks like-' the words slipped away as Dick worked a kitchen towel around his hair, unashamedly unpeeling his wet clothes in the middle of the kitchen.

‘-he was asking for it. Biting me-‘ Dick tugged on a long sleeved shirt from Jason’s kitbag. The band was unfamiliar but the sleeves were long. He pinched a pair of jeans that had seen better days, for good measure, looping his own belt through the waist and pulling the belt tight.

‘Richard. Are you even listening?’

Dick blinked owlishly over the kitchen island and into the open plan lounge. Jason stared back, eyes unamused over the beer can.

‘Sorry, Jaybird. Spaced out. What were you saying?’

‘I was trying to tell you that Timothy is a feral brat!’

Dick scoffed. If anyone could be called feral it was himself and Jason. Both had lacked the proper breeding or affluence that had come with moving around in circles such as The Wayne’s or The Drakes. The last time Damian had reminded the duo, it hadn’t been pretty. Tim had ended up on Jason’s back, screaming the logistics of killing Damian in The Manor, all whilst Jason tore through the building with Damian one step ahead.

‘Tim’s a good kid. Did you get him a present?’

Jason crushed the can and tossed it high into the kitchen. He whooped as it landed in the sink.

‘He’ll be upset if you didn't'.

Jason rolled his eyes, getting up to sling his kitbag over his shoulder. The helmets inside thumped his back. He pointedly ignored Dick having claimed his spare clothes.

‘Yeah, yeah. I got him some tech gizmo he mentioned a while ago. Alfred made sure to tell me if he already had it or not'.

Dick shoved his wet socks into a pair of old boots. He was quietly glad Jason was actively interacting with the family more, Bruce aside. It wouldn’t do any good to say it to his face, but he knew deep down Jason felt the same. 

‘Did you get me a present?’ Jason stage whispered, handing Dick an oversized leather jacket. ‘Come on, Dickie. You know I’m your favourite!’

Dick shrugged the jacket on. It smelt like Jason. He debated on joking that he himself was the present, yet the words never came. He closed his mouth and shrugged. If he were being honest, Dick had never had a favourite sibling, had never wanted to rank his family; he just understood that he was his least favourite person, on his one man list.

‘You gonna be good to ride?’ Jason asked, his snicker becoming a cough. ‘Hey, that’s your brain going there. Not mine,’ Dick rolled his eyes and followed his brother to the door. Jason’s hand hesitated on the handle, his brow furrowed. ‘Dick, I mean it. Can I trust you on my bike?’.

Dick nodded slowly. His arms would need a fresh wrapping after the journey, however he trusted them to keep him on the bike.

‘You’ll ruin Christmas if you chuck your self off. That’s kinda my job. You know getting too drunk. Dropping the turkey...’

‘Shut up, Jay,’ Dick groaned, feeling himself smile genuinely. Jason’s eyes lit up. ‘You don’t get your present if I fall off!’

‘I’m a sucker for free shit, so we’ll duck tape you to the tank!’

* * *

The duo arrived at The Manor hours later, ducktape free, both practically crawling off the motorbike with identical groans. Dick was sure he’d left Jason with bruised ribs from his relentless clinging.

‘Home sweet, home!’ Jason hissed as he glared around The Batcave. He snapped the kickstand into place, leaving the bike rather inconveniently parked.

Dick stretched to touch his toes, groaning again as his body popped and cracked. He slung the helmet over a handle and squeezed Jason’s shoulder.

‘You can turn back now. If you want. No judgement.’  
Jason brushed the hand away.

‘If you can drag your depressed arse here, then I can be a brave boy as well.’

‘Technically,’ Dick mused, allowing the words to harmlessly bounce off him, ‘ _you_ dragged my depressed arse here. So we’re both being brave. Oh so brave.’ He couldn’t dwell on his recent relapse. It was too close to his prior attempt.

‘If we leave now I can definitely be off the driveway before Alfred finds us!’

‘Master Jason! I’m glad to see you again,’ Alfred announced, appearing before them as if summoned. ‘These old bones aren’t as spry as they used to be. I would simply send Master Tim to find you,’ he continued with a twinkle of the eye.

Jason melted into the brisk hug, pulling away before it could be called sentimental. He coughed awkwardly and strode around the butler, helmet tucked defensively under his arm.

Alfred turned to Dick, his face an open smile. ‘Master Dick, I am so pleased you have joined us. I do hope you have not bought me a present. I feel that having Master Jason home is enough’.

Dick snatched Alfred to him, swallowing his own wince. He clung to the aged man like a child, rocking the pair slowly.

‘I’ve missed you, Alfred,’ Dick admitted as he stepped away. His arms itched. ‘You know I couldn’t not get you something small!’

Alfred nodded, back to business. ‘Before we venture up. Would you allow me to attend to your wounds?’

‘How did you-‘

‘If I must be frank, Master Dick. I have known you long enough to know the signs,’ Alfred interrupted not unkindly. He led Dick to the medical bay. ‘I also had a telephone call last night. We are both aware that Master Bruce will not broach the topic so openly. However, Master Jason thought it best to speak with me before your arrival’.

Dick sat obediently on the gurney, rolling the long sleeves to his elbows. He didn’t feel angry that Jason had gone to Alfred as soon as he could; Dick would have flown into helicopter parent mode if any of his siblings were hurting, again. He was thankful Jason had begun speaking with his family again, and that Tim had taken steps to tackle his disordered eating.

Alfred set the leather jacket aside, his fingers lingering on the red lining.

‘I must say, it seems you’re getting better. Slowly. Unless there are more, hidden?’

The gentle swabs and careful wrapping didn’t hurt Dick as it once had. The slices were days old, a number scabbing over green. Still tender to touch, inflamed, bearable.

His self harm had dramatically fallen, despite the continual gloom at the back of Dicks mind. Dick had mentally affirmed it was the safer alternative to swallowing another bottle of pills. He knew however that neither were solutions, and terrible rationalisations at best.

He still couldn’t meet Alfred’s eyes, too scared of what he might find.

‘No, you’re right. I’m getting there, Alfred. I’ve been keeping busy'. Alfred hummed sharply. ‘Not over doing it though! Just taking it one day at a time. Jay pops in most weeks after...uh. He’s always sending me stupid memes'.

‘He does make me chuckle’ Alfred admitted, his kind eyes meeting Dicks.

‘Tim always calls me to help him with his homework. I try and tell him the stuff goes right over my head, but I think it helps us both’.

Alfred snipped the last of the bandage and replaced the sleeves. ‘Shall we join your brothers? Master Bruce was adamant he stir the gravy, and I do admit I am fond of my kitchen’.

Dick swallowed against the dryness in his throat. He had yet to discuss his suicide attempt with Bruce, let alone challenge him on his silence. The month had been fraught with fear, worry of Bruce sweeping in disappointed and angry. Dick didn’t know what hurt worse; that Bruce still didn’t know how far his son had fallen, or that he did and couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge Dick's instability.

He stared down at his scuffed boots that squelched with every step, Jason’s shirt looked ridiculously big.

‘Your room is as you left it’

‘Thanks, Alf,’ Dick replied, toeing the boots off. The damp socks followed. ‘Maybe just some slippers’.

* * *

Jason hovered around Alfred, plucking at platters and excitedly discussing novels he’d read in his spare time. Alfred swatted at Jason’s hungry hands as easily as he analysed theoretical texts.

Damian skulked in the dining room, tapping away at a console Jon had recommended. A curt ‘Grayson' was enough for Dick.

Dick curled up in the main lounge, the oversized shirt and baggy yoga pants clashing with his frown. The chatter and sounds flowing around The Manor felt all so familiar, homely.

Dick felt coiled, uneasy, prepared for a fight or flight response.

Bruce had yet to welcome his eldest and Dick wasn’t sure how he felt about the absence.

Before he could sink into over-thinking; Tim bounded into the room, a frazzled mess of too little sleep and caffeine high.

‘Dick!’ Tim said, rocking on his heels. Dick could see the excitement running through the lithe body, the sheer joy. ‘Where’s my bone crushing hug?’

Dick made himself get up. He wrapped his arms around his brother, stiffly. Tim’s hands fisted in his back, pulling him close. Dick exhaled into Tim’s hair and hugged him hard.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Tim murmured, pressed into Dicks chest. ‘It's good to actually see you’.

Dick choked and picked Tim up into his arms. Smiling with his teeth, he spun the teen until the tension dissolved. Tim dropped to his feet, his hand still tight in Dicks.

‘I’m so sorry, Tim,’ Dick whispered, his free hand musing the Robin’s hair into a mess. He pulled Tim close, feeling the erratic heartbeat in his chest, not ready to leave his brothers love. ‘No matter how hard things get. I will never leave you. I promise’.

Tim sniffed loudly, nudging Dick away to scrub hastily at his eyes.

‘You will never, _ever_ , see me like that again. Please believe me’.

Tim smiled, all watery eyes and forgiveness. Dick wanted to cry. Instead he squeezed Tim’s hand and rubbed small circles into the skin. A small gesture he himself had longed for.

‘I know,’ Tim croaked, pulling his hand free with an apologetic blush. ‘There really isn’t anything I can say. I forgive you. I’m just happy you’re here. I get it, I do. Just stop apologising, Dick, I’m not traumatised’.

 _Aren’t you?_ Dick thought.

‘We haven’t exactly led easy lives'.

Dick nodded, unable to form a response. Of course Tim, an old soul, could understand the turmoil at such a young age, and shoulder it well. How often Dick wished he could remove Tim from that burden, shoulder it even for a moment.

‘If...if, it ever upsets you. Or you even begin to think it’s the answer. I want you to call me, Tim. Okay?’

‘I will. Jason even gave me his number,’ Tim blushed brighter, ‘I haven’t had any prank calls yet. But, he did threaten that if I gave it to Bruce he’d kill me’. Tim shrugged, neither wanting to open that overflowing can of worms.

‘You going to be okay eating with us all?’

Tim waved the question away with a very unamused scowl.

‘Of course! Are you going to actually talk to Bruce tonight?’

Dick flinched backwards. ‘ _Ouch_ , Tim. I’m only looking out for you’.

‘Same here!’ Tim bit back. ‘But it’s going to be a real awkward dinner if you’re not talking. You know Jason thrives off that kind of thing’.

Dick licked his lips, his chest tight.

‘Does _he_ know?’

Tim rolled his shoulders, shrugging so deeply his shoulders touched his ears.

‘All I know is he’s in his study. Might as well go and find out. Bite the bullet’.

Dick kissed his teeth. ‘Bite the bullet’.

* * *

Dick studied the darkened oak, the barrier between himself and his Father. He brushed his fingers to the wood, as he had as a sullen child too nervous to knock. If he stood any longer he would merge with the carpet, rooted.

Dick's stomach rolled. He curled a sweaty palm into a fist and tapped twice, knocking hard against the wood. He stood alone in the silence, unsure if the cavern had become too wide.

_Bite the bullet._

Going against every ingrained rule, Dick twisted the handle and stepped into the study without a response. He stepped into the darkened room, feeling as though he had taken the first step towards the crumbling ledge.

‘Bruce?’ Dick questioned, his voice small in his ears. He pulled the door shut, planting his feet. The darkness bled further into the room. ‘I...I know you’re in here’. The words felt pathetic, childlike.

Dick coughed into his hand, the noise like thunder around him.

‘If you want me to leave. I will.’ Dick breathed hard through his nose, nausea rising. ‘I understand if you don’t want to see me. I was...selfish. I couldn’t come to you. I’m sorry. I hate letting you down and my, my feelings. My thoughts. I couldn’t bare for you to see me as a failure’. 

Dick inhaled, the lump in his throat a boulder.

‘I’m sorry I ever put Jason and Tim in that position. That I hurt you all. I was so lost, Bruce. I couldn’t see a future!’.

Dicks ears strained for the creak of leather. He balled his shaking hands into fists. Silence buzzed in his ears.

‘How can you hide from me? Bruce. Your son! I nearly _died_ and you can’t even face me!’. Dick sobbed, croaking miserably. ‘You must know! You know everything’.

Dick sunk to his knees, folding in on himself, shivering.

‘Have I brought you that much shame...that you can’t even face me?’

‘No’

Dick searched the room desperately, blind.

‘And I thought I was the coward?’ Dick laughed, hard and sharp. ‘At least I’m alive. Right? Except you can’t even look at me. I might as well be dead!’

Bruce materialised before Dick, crouched, lines cut deep into his face.

‘Don’t you **_dare_** say that’.

Dick gasped. His fingers curled into the carpet, lest he reach for Bruce.

‘Shout at me, Bruce – strike me. Be angry’.

Bruce’s face twisted.

‘Give me something. Anything. Bruce. Say something so I know where I stand’.

Bruce raised his hand and Dick flinched involuntarily. He closed his eyes, hugging himself. Bruce dropped his hands, gently laying them on Dicks quivering shoulders.

‘Bruce,’ Dick whispered, bone tired. ‘I tried to kill myself and you said _nothing_ ’.

‘I didn't know what to say, Chum. I didn’t have the words to help...'

‘So you hid?’ Dick whispered, staring hard at his Father. ‘Even if you were angry. You could have shouted at me. Benched me. Done anything to show me that you cared!’

Bruce swallowed thickly.

‘I was so scared of your reaction,’ Dick hissed. ‘I was terrified. Now I’m on my knees begging you to be angry. Anything to show me you care. That you love me enough to see me, to want to help me'.

‘Richard. I have always loved you’.

Dick shook his head, the cavern widened beneath him.

‘Not enough to help, apparently’.

The ground cracked and Dick slipped, fingers around the ledge.

‘Don’t you dare come home and tell me I do not care!’ Bruce growled, shaking Dick. 'I couldn’t face losing another son. I couldn’t acknowledge that. I admit, I was wrong for that’.

Dick rolled with the movement, allowing himself to be pulled into a hug.

‘If I ever made you feel unloved. Unworthy. I am sorry,’ Bruce snapped. ‘I was furious. Blind with rage’. Dick stiffened, afraid. ‘I gave you space. In wanting to give you and your brothers that space to grieve, to heal. I hurt you. I didn’t know how to approach you, your feelings, without pushing you further away’.

Dick closed his eyes. The ghost of a hand ensnared his wrist.

‘You can always come to me. I may not be your Dad, but I am your Father. There will be times when I’m angry. Disappointed even. But I will never give up on you, Chum. If you need to shout, be angry. Cry. You can’.

‘I'm sorry'.

‘I know you are. I am too’.

Dick sobbed, clinging to Bruce like a lifeline. ‘Have I ruined Christmas?’

Bruce laughed, his breathe warm against Dicks cheek. He pulled away and lifted his sons chin. Dick glanced away, shaking himself he stared back.

‘My family are downstairs, creating chaos,’ Bruce said, resting his palm on Dicks cheek. ‘And my eldest is alive. We can discuss this more, tomorrow, in a month, when ever it is easiest. There is nothing I want more than my family to be safe. We _will_ discuss this’.

Dick nodded, smiling despite the stern warning. ‘I’m not the best present, but it sure beats macaroni necklaces'.

‘I have enough of those to last a lifetime. But I only have one Dick Grayson'. Dick cried unashamedly. 'Thank you for coming home'.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope Bruce didn't seem too OOC. I didn't want to write him shouting at Dick because honestly the man needs a good hug.


End file.
